I climbed up, pressing on the sides of my canvas shoes. My fingertips grazed the ground when I leaned forward to balance. If we cut through the island and join the road on the other side, it would spare us a good 10 minutes. I would make our wishes today. I walked around instead, led by that thin hand. The little girl’s ankles, wet with brown dirt, now dusted ashy grey. This wishing tree awaited us in its gentle grove.

​

The summer day wrapped around me like a hot blanket. I wanted to take off my outer layer of linen. The air was dry, but it felt wet beneath my skin, pouring on like waves of orange. I wanted to slip my fingers underneath, to peel away and evaporate in fresh air. Or to hide underneath the heavy trunks, shaded in moist sinking green. A ringing sound, she pressed a hand to her ear.

​

"Abla! Abla! Do you want a wish?"

A child was sitting on the side of the road, drawing shapes where dust met the sparse grass.

"Thank you I already have one." He looked down at the colored strings in his hands. I looked down also, at my greyed feet, crunching on yellow needles. The road bit my soles.  Crunches and crickets, I would be there by sunset. There was a tug on my hand. I squinted behind against the dust. "Abla. Here have a wish."

​

 We ignored him and kept walking. I thought of dinner and bitter dandelion meze, yogurt and water. Urgently, "I have many colors! Abla!" His hand left a smudge on his forehead, brown sweat dirt. I avoided those almond eyes, the rattling of coins. A ringing, or was it a shiver? It would be sunset soon. "I already have one." I rubbed over the knotted knobs, mine and my mother’s. We walked ahead, orange, brown, green. 

She ducked her head down and slipped against the leaves. The sunlight now kissed small fractals onto the soft brown earth, completely shrouded above. A leaf brushed my eyebrow. I pressed my free hand to it and brought it to my mouth. Iron. The leaves fell in white shards onto the floor, onto her shoulders and mine as she pushed her way past them.

​

“Why are they crumbling like that?” She pushed through.

“Unfulfilled wishes.” The ground was ribbon and spine, a scattered rainbow.

“Should we be pushing past them like this?” I asked. “There will always be many more.”

​

 I brushed my knuckles against the leaves and watched as they rained down. White as bone, ribbons still attached. She turned around suddenly, little hands brushing shards off my shoulder, shaking out my hair. Reaching up, she smoothed her hands between my brows. How do you know it will come true? I didn’t ask. Our ribbons squeezed damp in my clenched fist.

The sky had turned a dark grey on the way down. We did not turn around but continued walking forward after we reached the top. My questions rattled my lungs, wishes burning in each inhale. It was time for dinner, and I was already late. This route quickly led to a road. Pine and dust, familiar ground. On the side of the road, I saw a neat row laid out. Red, yellow, purple and coins on the right. She released my hand and took a careful seat, dusting the spot before silently settling. The island stood in front of me. It would save me 10 minutes if I cut through. I wiped my hands on my thighs and walked ahead.